


Heaven's embroidered cloths

by onereader



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Deserves Nice Things, Harry likes soft things, M/M, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Fashion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/onereader
Summary: In which the Yule Ball opens Harry's eyes to beauty and splendour, and it takes him eight years to find someone who realises exactly what he wants. Magical fabric, solstice celebrations, and first kisses in borrowed clothes.





	Heaven's embroidered cloths

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [post](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/post/183888227526/diligent-thunder-yesterdaysprint-life) and egged on by the wonderful drarry discord crew!
> 
> Big thank you to @bblgumbby for her speedy beta work and cheerleading, as well as @MarchnoGirl for her hugely encouraging comments on the google doc! I did the final edit - so any remaining errors are mine!

25 th December 1994

 

Harry held his breath as he walked into the Great Hall, feeling completely out of his depth even dressed as he was in his crisp new dress robe and starched collar. With Parvati on his arm, beautifully dressed in her sari with layers of vibrant pink fabric expertly folded and wrapped, sparkling with mirrored sequins, he should have felt proud and confident like Cedric or Krum. Instead, he felt heavy and stolid. A plain and messy anomaly in the crystalline perfection the Great Hall had been transformed into. He was more suited to the homey comfort of the Gryffindor common room, or the rough and tumble of the Quidditch pitch. Not this.

 

Everyone looked excited and happy, except for Ron in his archaic hand-me-down robes. But Harry’s eyes didn’t feel big enough to take in all of the colour and beauty around him. It felt like Hogwarts had never been so magical, never been so different from the drudgery of his life before getting his letter. The chattering of excited voices rose and fell in a cacophony that filled Harry’s ears, and the candlelight dazzled him as it reflected from the silver frosted walls. Two eyes didn’t seem enough to take everything in, not when everywhere Harry looked he saw something beautiful, something new that shot a thrill down his spine.

 

After his excruciating compulsory first dance as one of the Triwizard Champions, Harry gratefully stepped away from the dance floor and sat next to a sulking Ron. But instead of paying attention to his best friend’s muttering, he quietly gazed at the gowns in shiny satins, lustrous silks, and softest velvets as they twirled under the fairy lights. The girls seemed to be like fairy princesses themselves, transformed for the evening like something from the storybooks he read in the school library when he was hiding from Dudley and his gang. Harry had always loved those tales of transformation. Stories of discovery and rescue from sweeping cinders or spinning yarn - those stories always ended with a ball just like this one, and a happily ever after to boot.

 

Hermione and Krum interrupted his and Ron’s conjoined solitude and Harry grinned at seeing her look so flushed with excitement, slightly out of breath from her dancing. When he hugged her, his fingertips grazed the shiny silkiness of her periwinkle blue dress and he was stunned by the lightness, the softness, the way it felt almost like liquid. He didn’t say anything, didn’t think it was normal that he was so preoccupied with the beauty of the dress - of the material - rather than the girl wearing it. But he found himself rubbing his fingertips against his thumb for the rest of the night, remembering the delicacy of the fabric, and wondering if he would ever feel something so soft again.

 

The next morning, when he slipped on his worn out Dudley-sized jeans his heart hurt that little bit more than ever before. But he had bigger things to worry about than the rough texture of the denim, or the pinch at his waist from the heavy fabric gathered tightly with a cheap belt. 

  
  


——

 

1 st August 1997

 

By the time the summer before seventh year rolled around Harry had realised that his reactions on the night of the Yule Ball weren’t a one off. 

 

He still remembered the feel of Hermione’s dress, and the sight of swirling gowns like a kaleidoscope of colour across the dance floor. 

 

He realised that Ron and the other boys in his dormitory were indifferent towards their own clothing, and mostly appreciated the way girls clothes accentuated their bodies – rather than the material it was made of. 

 

The thought that he was maybe wired wrong somehow had plagued him at first. The idea that maybe he wasn’t like other boys and maybe he would end up fancying a party dress instead of a pretty girl had caused sleepless nights and anxious worrying. But then sixth year, and Ginny, and his chest monster happened, and Harry relaxed into the knowledge that he most definitely fancied people - not frocks. It was one positive he could take from that year at least.

 

But he still thought about that night occasionally, about the way the gowns had looked, the way even some of the boys dress robes had the shine and glamour of expensive fabrics. He didn’t want to do anything weird, Harry thought to himself, it wasn’t like he wanted to rub one off on a nice dress. He just liked the idea of it…soft fabric running across his skin. He liked the memory of the silk on his fingers. It had just felt  _ good _ . Precious little in his life had ever felt like that before.

 

Fleur and Bill’s wedding was a reminder of all those beautiful clothes that people wore when special moments were occurring. Special moments that Harry had never been invited to before, until now. 

 

He remembered when one of Vernon’s older nieces had gotten married, long before owl letters, and Hagrid, and Hogwarts. Harry had watched from the corner of the living room as the Dursley’s hustled and bustled to get ready for the big day; suits for Vernon and Dudley, and a fluffy green dress for Petunia. 

 

Harry had waited for them to be ready, quietly watching and helping when sharp commands were shot his way. Even Dudley managed to look smart in his three-piece suit, even if he did look like a particularly formal beach ball. Harry passed Aunt Petunia her silk scarf as she left the house and thought to himself that it felt light as air as it whipped across his fingers when she snatched it away from his  _ “grubby little hands”. _

 

Harry, of course, proceded to spend the day sitting in his cupboard with only spiders for company, a stomach aching from hunger, and a rough threadbare blanket scratching against his skin.

 

Now that he was here at the Burrow, in a beautiful tent filled with the people he loved best, Harry allowed himself a moment to just look his fill. Even though he wasn’t wearing his own face, the polyjuiced ginger hair and freckles a necessary security measure, he felt like he belonged here. But he was quietly pleased with the way his anonymity gave him even more of a chance to observe than he usually would have allowed himself. 

 

After having helped the Weasleys set everything up for days, he felt a surge of contentment now that the ceremony was over and the party was beginning. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione and watched as the newly formed dance floor filled up. 

 

Fleur and Bill only had eyes for each other during their elegant first dance. Bill’s face shone with adoration as he gazed at Fleur, her smiling blue eyes sparkling brighter than the tiara that crowned her head of silvery blonde hair. And everyone else looked so wonderful too, dressed in their finest to celebrate this joyful moment. Ginny in her golden bridesmaid dress looked like sunshine itself with her red hair tumbling over her shoulders. The flowing satin of her skirt swished as she danced with Luna and Harry felt his chest tighten just looking at her. 

 

The warm afternoon sunshine was dimming towards a sultry dusk, and this shining moment of joy and love was an island of light in a sea of darkness. He knew he was going to walk right into those shadows soon, but for now Harry contented himself with watching his family, and rubbing the material of his formal robes between his fingers and thumb, imagining it felt like silk.

  
  


* * *

 

 

10 th September 2000

  
  


As Harry drew close to the vast doors leading into the Ministry Atrium, transformed for the evening into a ballroom, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. 

 

He had always known that Malfoy was rich, and spoilt, and liked the finer things in life. But somehow he had never made the connection between that and his _ clothes _ . Of course at school Malfoy had been given the best broom by his father, and had packages of expensive sweets delivered regularly by his mother. But every student in Hogwarts still all wore the same uniform. And Harry certainly hadn’t paid that much attention to Malfoy’s school clothes, more interested in either avoiding him or following him depending on the year in question.

 

During the post war trials Malfoy had been allowed the same Ministry regulation prisoner robe as every other accused. When he was released due to his age, and the extenuating circumstances explained in a letter Dumbledore had arranged to be delivered to the Wizengamot posthumously, Malfoy had been given back the same clothes he was arrested in - the torn robes he’d worn on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts.

 

Even during Auror training Malfoy had dutifully worn the same strict uniform as the rest of the cadets, strong and serviceable fabrics with safety charms woven into their fabric. Harry felt the charms like a subtle itch along his senses, his heightened awareness of magic since coming back from the dead giving him even more cause to notice the clothes he wore every day. But Malfoy had never complained about the Auror cadet uniform, one of many changes to his attitude Harry had observed as they trained together.

 

But this was a gala, the first big celebration of the season, and every graduating Auror had to attend. It was the first formal event Harry would be attending without Ginny as his companion since their mutual acknowledgement of their more familial than romantic love for each other - and more pertinently their shared gay awakenings. As amicable as their parting had been he didn’t think she’d appreciate being his wing-woman quite yet. So he was nervously arriving solo to a big party for the first time in his adult life, aged twenty, though he knew he would join his friends soon. 

 

The whole team of freshly minted Junior Aurors had all grumbled about attending at first, but even Harry was quietly proud to be passing muster. And he was even more secretly excited to see the beautiful clothes he knew people would be wearing, even if he did stick with plain black formal robes for himself. He was used to them now, grateful that these robes were his, that they fitted and didn’t irritate his skin like his childhood cast-offs from the Dursleys. 

 

His admiration for fine materials and beautiful fabrics had stayed very much on the inside of his head, rather than expressing itself in his wardrobe choices. Even now, years after the final battle, people tried to style him as some kind of icon. But it never sat well with him. He was just Harry. He knew he was just an ordinary person really, and he didn’t  _ need _ to buy expensive clothes. A part of him still couldn’t quite believe he had his own clothes at all, bought new and just for him. To ask for more seemed too much. More than he deserved at any rate. So his simple black robes were enough for him.

 

Malfoy’s choice of formal wear, however, was on quite another level entirely. And ‘plain’ didn’t seem to enter the equation. He wore a classically cut muggle shirt and pair of trousers with a stylish short robe over the top that came to mid-thigh – all in shades of blue that suited his complexion perfectly. 

 

Every piece of fabric shone with quality. Harry could tell now, at a glance, that the shirt was silk. The trousers must have been the finest wool, tailored perfectly to Malfoy’s tall, lean frame. 

 

But it was the robe that caught Harry’s gaze and held it – it must have been some kind of magical material, or maybe an enchanted fabric. Lined in teal silk, the folds of fabric lay perfectly over Malfoy’s shoulders and seemed to shimmer and glow with every minute movement of his body. It was like a dark sea had been siphoned, its water hooked onto a loom, and woven thread by thread to create a cloak of shifting liquid light and darkness. Combined with Malfoy’s distinctive colouring and aristocratic bone structure, the effect was astonishing.

 

Somehow Harry had never thought about the idea of a man wearing clothes like that. He never imagined that a man could wear silk or satin, or colours like jewels. It was always the girls and women who sparkled and shone at parties like this. But Malfoy’s outfit was proof of how wrong he had been. Harry was aware that Malfoy was handsome, and they were all physically fit from their training, but Malfoy’s clothes made him look like some kind of preternatural creature. 

 

Harry knew his surprise and startled appreciation was probably written all over his face, but couldn’t quite bring himself to school his features – or even fumble an excuse for his wide eyes. He was too entranced by the magical fabric of Malfoy’s robe. If he looked closely, and he did, he could swear faint liquid ripples rolled across it as Malfoy breathed or shifted his weight - as if a pebble had been thrown into a still pond. 

 

Harry wondered if it would feel like normal fabric to touch, or like the liquid silkiness of the invisibility cloak. Would he be able to feel the magic in the threads like running his fingers through the salty water of the ocean?

 

When he finally drew his eyes away from the robe Harry found Malfoy looking at him with those pale grey eyes, full of the all the sharp analytical power he had so expertly utilised during Auror training. Harry froze with the uncomfortable sensation of being  _ seen _ . Like Malfoy was somehow perusing the thoughts currently whirling around his head like a carousel  _ -soft-silk-skin-magic-touch-touch-touch- _ as easily as he would read a report at his desk.

 

But Malfoy didn’t make a comment, no sarcastic quip or backhanded compliment. He simply quirked his mouth in an almost smile and then led the way into the ballroom with a nod of his head. Harry swallowed hard, and then followed.

 

* * *

 

 

22 nd December 2002

  
  


If Harry had known that attending the Winter Solstice party held at Malfoy Manor would lead to him getting doused with Aguamenti, and then promptly having his thoroughly soaking clothes  _ literally _ charmed off by an absolutely wasted Blaise Zabini (cheered on by Seamus and Ron, of all bloody people) he might not have turned up at all. 

 

But every Auror under thirty had been invited and two years into being on the same force, working together every day - even spending time on rotation as partners - meant that Harry had actually been glad to say yes to Draco’s invitation. The fact that he had maybe been thinking more and more about what it might be like to spend considerably more personal time with Draco had nothing to do with it at all.

 

Of course that was before he realised that Draco was famous for his parties, which started off elegantly but as the evening wore on descended into glamorous bacchanalia. True to form the night had begun with canapés and champagne in crystal flute glasses in an expansive ballroom filled with chandeliers full of candlelight. But past midnight the crowd had thinned to just the dedicated revelers and had moved into the gardens near the edge of the forest where formal planting submitted to the encroaching wilderness, and urbane socialisation yielded to something a little more primal.

 

Candles still floated overhead, but now flaming torches accompanied them - and two great fires that made Harry feel like he had somehow travelled back in time cracked and sparked with flames of red, and blue, and purple. Harry remembered reading in muggle primary school about ancient druids and their worship of the sun and seasons. And here he was, celebrating the longest night of the year with wine and fire and  _ magic _ . 

 

Harry’s problems began when he was taking part in the traditional leaping of bonfires and his robe caught a tiny ember on the hem and started smoking. A minor inconvenience that his drunk, and slightly histrionic, best friend decided needed to be dealt with immediately - and with extreme prejudice. Ron had maintained his fierce protectiveness of his friends, and Harry loved him dearly for it. But thanks to his and Blaise’s ‘helpful’ spell work he was now standing in nothing but his underwear and his wand holster in the middle of the party, so his patience for their antics was at an all time low.

 

Admittedly he wasn’t the only one who had shed clothes as the evening wore on, but he certainly hadn’t planned on it, and the cold of the midwinter night shocked his damp skin. Before he could either give chase to his hooting friends, or think of a spell to cover himself up, the flames roaring in preparation for the next person to make the jump distracted him.

 

It was Draco that leapt between the two bonfires. Harry couldn’t help but admire his courage, it had taken Draco two years after the final battle, and the Fiendfyre, to be able to sit comfortably next to a lit fireplace. And now he was leaping through the flames with his robes flying wildly around him making him look like some kind of fiery angel. He was laughing as he landed, graceful as ever, but as he turned and saw Harry his smile faltered. He strode over immediately, and Harry felt his lack of clothes even more keenly under his intense grey gaze.

 

“I can’t say I imagined you’d be one of the exhibitionists in the crowd Potter,” a slight frown marred his smooth forehead. “What on earth happened here?”

 

“Well-“ Harry began to protest.

 

Draco gave a quick shake of his head, and shrugged out of his robe, leaving himself clad in finely tailored dark slacks and a loose white shirt. 

 

“I apologise, it’s cold and you’re-“ he gestured towards Harry with the bunched up robes and Harry realised with trepidation that Draco intended for him to put them on. He didn’t know where this hesitation came from. Draco was his friend now, he was being a good host and making sure he didn’t catch cold. But somehow this sharing of clothes felt like a new intimacy he hadn’t expected coming, rather than a simple kindness from a friend and host. 

 

Clearly his slow reaction was frustrating, Draco once again pushed the dark robes at Harry.

 

“Put it on. I insist” His tone was warm, but laced with the firmness that often accompanied his demands. The innate belief that of course his wishes would be met was still ingrained in his cadence and timbre, even after years of learned humility and practiced reconciliation.

 

Harry hesitantly took the proffered robe, horrified to see the slight tremor in his hand. Urged on by the implacable look on Draco’s face, he slipped the deep green fabric over his arms and onto his shoulders where it settled with warmth and a pleasantly heavy drape. He stood, arms feeling awkward at his sides, and then felt his eyes widen as he realised that he could feel Draco’s _body heat_ in the weighty silk now draped across his nearly naked body. 

 

He could feel a blush rising up his neck and onto his face, and clenched his fists. Hopefully Draco couldn’t see it in the warm light from the fires. Knowing his own luck though, the chances were slim. Harry didn’t know why he was reacting like this – Draco was being generous and frankly Harry  _ had _ been getting cold. Draco’s robe was warm, so he should stop being so silly and just say ‘thank you’ for the lack of impending hypothermia.

 

But the robe wasn’t just warm. It was warm because it was made of the finest heavy silk. It was warm because Draco had been wearing it against his body all night. It was warm because there were charms woven into the fabric, altogether more delicate and gentle than the ones on Harry’s Auror uniform. Charms that carried the calming touch of Draco’s magic, familiar to Harry after years of working together and becoming closer than he could ever have imagined. Feeling that magic, and that body heat, tingling along his exposed skin threw a whole new, and entirely too sensual, perspective onto the situation.

 

He realised he was still standing silently, blushing, and knew that the longer he left Draco to simply observe him the more danger he was in of his reactions being analysed and commented on. At length.

 

“Thanks.” Harry gathered the robes closed with one hand to cover his underwear and naked chest and let out a rueful laugh. “I appreciate it, don’t think Blaise is likely to be able to return those clothes anytime soon in the state he’s in.”

 

He rubbed at the back of his neck, tugging on the curls of hair at his nape. It was a nervous habit that even Hermione’s persistence hadn’t managed to break him of. Draco’s narrowed eyes implied that he knew that just as well as Harry did. But he just moved to stand next to Harry companionably, apparently happy to let it go and focus on the next guest to fling themselves over the crackling fires.

 

Just as Harry began to relax, watching the way the multicoloured sparks from the bonfires danced merrily up into the pitch dark sky, Draco leaned closer and bumped their shoulders together gently.

 

“So tell me Harry.” He murmured. “What’s it about?”

 

Harry could sense Draco’s eyes watching him, the prickle of acute awareness refreshing the hot flush on his cheeks. He determinedly looked ahead, his eyes losing focus as he stared into the flames. Their flickering light cast laughing shadows upon his friend’s faces as they danced around in the night. 

 

He thought about obfuscating, but what was the point? He wasn’t admitting to anything awful, and maybe Draco would understand it best out of all of Harry’s friends – seeing as he clearly enjoyed fine fabrics close to his skin himself. Harry knew Draco wouldn’t push the question if he clearly avoided it though, and that was the deciding factor in going for it. 

 

“I just…” he shrugged, feeling awkward. “I just like the way some clothes look. The way they feel. I like how soft they are. It just- it just feels good, I suppose.”

 

He risked a quick glance to his right, to see Draco’s reaction. He found him nodding slightly, as if he’d just confirmed privately held suspicions. But no arched eyebrow of judgment. Not even a hint of a smirk. Draco really had mellowed, Harry mused.

 

Draco turned slightly, his focus zeroing in on Harry’s face. So much for mellowing out - Harry realised that this was just the opening to the conversation, not the end of it. Draco reminded him of Hermione in that respect, once he had his theories confirmed he immediately wanted to expand upon them. 

 

“So, you like the way certain fabrics feel?” 

 

Harry nodded in confirmation, happy to let Draco steer the discussion. That way Harry would maybe get away with simple yes or no answers, and Draco’s curiosity would be sated without Harry making a fool out of himself. Maybe.

 

“Why don’t you wear these kind of robes yourself then?” Draco asked, no hint of censure in his voice, just simple interest.

 

That was what exactly Harry was hoping Draco wouldn’t ask though. Because he hadn’t really properly  _ thought about  _ why he never just walked into Twilfitt and Tattings and bought whatever felt the best. He just hadn’t. He hadn’t had the time. He’d hadn’t had someone to come with him, and show him what might look best. 

 

Hermione and Ginny were great at shopping with him for muggle clothes, because that's what he usually wore when he wasn’t working. T-shirts and jeans were his stalwart wardrobe faithfuls. He would feel stupid asking for a special robe. He would show himself up with his lack of knowledge, expose the barren childhood that had left him with such a keen wish for softness and beauty.

 

Draco continued to wait for an answer next to him, his gaze steady and patient. Harry sighed.

 

“I suppose…I’ve never had the need for them? I mean-” Harry found himself scratching the back of his neck again with blunt nails. “It just seems like a lot to spend, and I can’t quite justify it if I only wear them a few times a year.”

 

“So, do you think I’m wasteful by spending money on robes like this?” Draco waved towards the very robe Harry was now wearing with a lazy gesture of one pale hand.

 

Harry felt his blush deepen. Of course he had managed to put his foot in it and offend Draco. He hastened to correct himself.

 

“Of course I didn't mean that. No. I just mean…” Harry huffed as he tried to get his thoughts in order. “I just mean that I don't think it’s worth it - for me - I mean. Obviously you deserve to have nice clothes and you actually suit them too so—”

 

Harry cut himself off, aware that his slightly tipsy rambling was veering into territory he wasn’t quite ready for to Draco know. 

 

Harry might have privately given quite a bit of thought to how much Draco’s clothes suited him. And how well his tight fitting Auror uniform complimented his surprisingly broad frame. But Harry wasn’t about to start blurting that out while standing in his pants and a borrowed robe. The calculating look in Draco’s eyes made him feel like perhaps he hadn’t shut up quite in time, not if he hadn’t wanted to show more of his hand than he intended to.

 

“Well, I think you suit that robe rather well actually.” Draco drawled as he gave Harry a lazy once over. His eyes lingered at the point where Harry was clutching the robes to cover his chest before fixing upon his bare feet. Harry wiggled his toes in the grass and Draco’s expression flattened.

 

“You really are going to catch a cold Harry, this is ridiculous.” Draco huffed. “Let me take you into the house?”

 

He reached out to grasp Harry’s arm, and waited for Harry to nod his approval before drawing his wand and casting. The familiar squeeze of apparition seized Harry’s whole body for a nanosecond before he felt his, admittedly freezing, feet land into plush carpet.

 

Harry looked around him, and was immediately taken aback by the fact that Draco hadn’t brought him into one of the many public rooms he had visited before. This was Draco’s own private suite. Harry could see his enormous bed through wide open double doors to his right. 

 

Suddenly he felt his state of undress even more keenly. It felt more inappropriate in this space than it had in the middle of the party, and he didn't have the generous cover of darkness to hide any of his inevitable blushes.

 

Draco had already spun and walked into the bedroom, turning the corner and going out of sight before calling out for Harry to follow him. Harry was already warming up, and was content to wander through the ornate doors and see what Draco was up to. He almost walked right into Draco, who was reaching into an armoire and pulling out clothes. It must have been magically enhanced to be bigger on the inside than it looked, because he was shoulder deep before he pulled out a pair of black trousers and thrust them towards Harry.

 

“Put them on, I’ll just grab you a shirt and then I’m sure we can resize a pair of shoes for you.” 

 

Draco’s voice was slightly muffled  as he rifled through his clothes, and Harry allowed himself to gape like an idiot behind him at the prospect of being dressed head to toe in his clothes. His very, very nice clothes. This was not how Harry had imagined his evening would go. But the trousers he clutched in his hand felt soft and warm already, and Draco was clearly determined. So what could it hurt if Harry went along with it all?

 

Harry shrugged out of the borrowed robe and laid it carefully onto Draco’s expansive bed, its dark green lustre contrasting with the crisp white bedlinen. Drawing his wand from the leather holster that held it against his forearm, he cast a quick drying spell at himself to make sure his damp skin and underwear didn't ruin the clothes Draco was loaning him. He drew on the trousers and marvelled at the way the wool was soft and gentle against his skin, not a hint of scratchiness, just warmth and comfort. 

 

He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him as he was buttoning the slacks up, and shot a glance over his shoulder. Maybe Draco had decided that he didn't actually want Harry to wear them? Did they look awful on him? He was shorter than Draco, maybe he looked stupid, like a boy trying to dress up like a man. But when he saw Draco’s expression those fears melted away immediately. A swell of unexpected confidence rocked through him as he saw the way Draco’s mouth was parted and his eyes were fixed on the flex of Harry’s bare back. 

 

In the face of Draco’s apparent interest, Harry straightened his shoulders, boldly turned to face him, and reached out for the shirt held in a loose grasp at his side. Draco seemed to drag his eyes up to meet Harry’s in a weighty gaze as he gently tugged to untangle the white material from elegant fingers. 

 

Harry maintained that eye contact as he slipped his arms into the shirt and shrugged it onto his shoulders. He watched intently as Draco’s pupils blew open, and realised that it was the sight of Harry standing in his bedroom, wearing his clothes, the shirt left unbuttoned, that was cracking Draco’s usually unbreakable composure. Harry held his breath, the tension in the air between them was palpable and it felt like the merest shiver of air could crack it in two. And he really didn't want to disrupt this moment.

 

Just thinking about the possibilities of the situation made the blood in Harry’s veins quicken, his heartbeat pound loudly in his ears, and heat pool in his belly. The increasingly likely prospect that Draco both returned his attraction, and intended to do something about it, had Harry’s mind whirling through all of the possible actions he could take. 

 

Should he say something? Should he tell Draco that his feelings about him have been changing over the last six months? Should he just grab him?

 

Draco interrupted before Harry could work himself into even more of a state than he already had.

 

“I can quite literally see you panicking Harry,” Draco ducked his head to make their eye contact level. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us this evening, we’ve done well enough to avoid any of that since school I think. And now isn’t the time to start failing on that front, do you agree?”

 

Harry nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak. He was happy to let Draco take the lead in this conversation, that way he avoided exposing himself unnecessarily and being the one responsible for making work awkward for the next month. He didn’t dare look away from Draco’s electric gaze though, willing him to say what Harry was hoping he would say with every fibre of his being.

 

Draco drew in a deep fortifying breath, and Harry was filled with gratitude that he wasn’t the only one finding this moment of bridging the gap from friends to more a challenge. 

 

“First of all this doesn’t have anything to do with the clothes - what I’m about to say I mean. That’s another conversation.” 

 

Draco waited for Harry to nod again before continuing, his voice level and measured.

 

“I have very much enjoyed getting to the point where I feel you and I both mutually respect each other and enjoy spending time together. And if we never become more than colleagues and good friends then I will be perfectly content.”

 

“I have too Draco, you know that I’m happy- I’m proud of our friendship.” 

 

Draco smiled, and like always it softened his angular face. It made Harry’s hands itch to cup his cheek and feel that expression of happiness against the skin of his palm.

 

“That being said, Harry, I have found myself wanting more.” Draco stepped closer, and the gap between them became tantalisingly small. “I want to be able to attend parties like this with you by my side, I want to be able to know you better than I do even now. I want to be able to touch you. I want to be able to call you mine.” 

 

A shiver went down Harry’s spine at the calm way Draco simply laid out the facts of his desires. As if they didn’t set Harry aflame just to know them. As if Harry hadn’t been quietly wanting every single element of them himself. 

 

But Draco’s face gave away all of the emotion that his composed words seemed to defuse. His eyes were bright and searching as they took in Harry’s reaction, a muscle in his jaw clenched reflexively as he waited for his response. He was just as nervous and wanting as Harry.

 

“I want that too Draco.” It came out as a whisper, quite beyond Harry’s control. “I want all of that.”

 

Harry gave in to the temptation to touch, and found to his deep satisfaction that Draco’s jaw fitted perfectly in the cradle of his hand. He stroked the tender skin beneath his eye and felt his heart expand in his chest as Draco turned his head to plant a kiss in the middle of his palm. The sweetness was unexpected and set his nerves tingling. 

 

He slid his hand up to gently run his fingertips through Draco’s hair, worn soft and loose and utterly touchable. Draco stepped forward again, eliminating any space between them, and slipped his fingers under the still open shirt to rest his hands on Harry’s waist. The span of those hands, hot on his body, set Harry’s heart racing. His eyes fluttered shut in anticipation of the kiss he knew was coming. 

 

Harry felt Draco’s breath upon his lips before they touched, and he drew in his own shuddering inhale. Draco’s broad hands pulled him forward, bringing them into delicious full body contact from chest to knees, as they finally brushed their mouths together. Chaste and gentle, yet Harry still felt it all the way down to his toes. 

 

He draped his arms over Draco’s shoulders, tangling his hands in white blonde hair, and leant into a second, deeper kiss. A moan broke free as Draco licked at his bottom lip, and then their tongues were sliding against each other. Heat flooded through him as one of Draco’s hands slid to the small of his back, the strength in his embrace like accelerant on the fire of Harry’s arousal. 

 

But as quickly as it had intensified, Draco gentled the kiss, pulling back to place gentle kitten licks and soft brushes of lips against Harry’s parted mouth. If this was what a first kiss felt like between the two of them, Harry marvelled at what they might have together. 

 

“Gods, if that’s how we start Harry - I can't wait to see how we go on.” When Draco spoke his voice was low, and heavy with pleasure.

 

“My thoughts exactly.” Harry grinned. “We should go back to the party, make sure Ron and Blaise haven’t put the fires out already.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his own smile. 

 

“You’re probably right, I’d hold their behaviour against them but-” he squeezed at Harry’s waist with a wicked grin. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten you into my bedroom half naked so…I’ll give them a free pass this time.That won’t carry if they put out the bloody Solstice fires before sun-up though so we should finish getting you dressed”

 

Without a moment's hesitation he started buttoning up the shirt Harry was wearing, leaving the top couple of buttons undone. He smoothed his hands down Harry’s chest, neatening the wrinkles they had created in their embrace, before pushing him to sit on the bed and throwing a pair of socks at him. A pair of black boots were summoned from the wardrobe and quickly resized, and before he knew it Harry had been steered in front of a floor length mirror. Draco once again held out his green robe, and Harry let him slip it onto his shoulders. 

 

Both of them looked at his reflection in the mirror, and Harry’s breath caught at the sight of both of them looking back out. It was like the mirror of Erised all over again - only now it simple reflected the truth of the moment.

 

“I know you don't think you deserve to feel like this,” Draco murmured. “But you do. You deserve to be comfortable. You deserve to feel special, to feel beautiful.”

 

Harry had the dubious pleasure of watching his own face gawp in shock at Draco’s words in the mirror. He turned around, facing Draco as he shrugged into another of his own robes. Deepest indigo, in shimmering fabric with the pearlescent sheen of a raven’s wing. 

 

“I never said I didn’t…deserve things.” Harry protested.

 

A wry smile was his answer. He though back over the evening so far and had to agree that he might have implied just that. Harry felt a sheepish grin stretching over his own face, and nodded at Draco, knowing he’d understand that Harry was conceding the point.

 

“Come on, Harry, let's get back to the party. And let's have dinner. Tomorrow. Yes?” 

 

Draco held his hand out, and Harry nodded as he gladly reached out to link their fingers together. The snap of apparition landed them back at the tree line, the bonfires still flaring into the darkness and their friends still laughing and dancing on this longest night. Their reappearance prompted whoops and whistles, and plenty of ribald commentary, though it appeared that some of their friends had gotten up to far more adventurous escapades than first kisses in the boundary of the forest. 

 

They were still holding hands as the dawn came, the darkness fading as the sun rose, and the fires burning down to embers. 

 

Draco drew Harry closer, wrapping an arm around his middle and placing a kiss into his hair.

 

“As far as Winter Solstice celebrations go, this is the finest night I think I can remember.”

 

Harry smiled as he rubbed the silk of his borrowed robe between the forefinger and thumb of his free hand, feeling the lightness - the softness - the way it felt almost like a liquid. He leaned into the warmth of Draco at his side and nodded.

 

“I think this is the best night I can remember too.”

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


25 th December 2002 

 

Harry woke early on Christmas morning, beckoned by a full day at the Burrow with his family ahead of him. 

 

As he pottered in his kitchen making tea, a sharp tap at his window caught his attention. A large brown owl with orange eyes was peering in, a package held in its talons. Harry hurried to unlatch the window and relieve the bird of its load. He absently pulled out a bowl of owl treats and let it eat its fill while he read the card attached to the parcel.

 

_ Harry, _

 

_ Happy Christmas, consider this a two-part present.  _

 

_ The first is a permanent loan, it looks better on you than on me - those eyes of yours. The second is for every day, because you deserve it. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Draco  _

 

Exhilaration coursed through him just seeing Draco’s handwriting. And the familiar pleasure mixed with surprise whenever anyone got him a gift. But Draco had given him two?

 

As he carefully unfolded the perfect wrapping paper, he understood. Wrapped in delicate white tissue was the same deep green robe that Draco had first offered Harry on the solstice, the silk caught the weak winter sunlight and shimmered like evergreen leaves. It looked magically out of place in Harry’s kitchen, and he couldn’t help the thrill that went up his spine when he realised he could still smell Draco on the fabric, still feel his warming charms waiting latent in the threads.

 

Beneath he found a smaller tissue-wrapped bundle which revealed a sumptuous maroon scarf. Long and wide it was so soft Harry couldn’t help but stroke it, the fabric so delicate that it felt almost weightless in his hands. He immediately wrapped it around his neck, where it looped in generous folds. It would match perfectly with his Auror robes, and his favourite Weasley jumper. 

 

Harry felt the calming presence of Draco’s magic again, woven into this gift, layers of magical protection Draco must have laid upon the scarf before wrapping it. The unique touch of his magic was quickly becoming Harry’s favourite thing, and the fact that he had taken the time to put protections upon the scarf made something anxious deep inside of Harry settle, content, secure. 

 

He might not be ready to believe he deserved all of the luxury he had always admired, but he did believe that he might just deserve Draco. The rest would surely take care of itself. Harry buried his face into his new scarf, and grinned to himself, promising to thank Ron for being the catalyst for his newfound happiness. Right after dousing him with water after dinner, of course.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic - come and say hello on [my Tumblr](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com) for more! <3


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